


Demons Rising

by Janthony (Lumiel_lightbringer)



Series: The Archangel Fucking Raphael [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angel Ligur (Good Omens), Angels, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Archangels, Confusion, Crowley Has All the Genders (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley has Trauma from the Fall (Good Omens), Demons, Depression, F/M, Fallen Angels, Female Crowley (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Gen, Gender Identity, Genderfluid, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Genderqueer, Genderqueer Crowley (Good Omens), Heaven, Heaven & Hell, Hell, Holy Water, Ligur Lives (Good Omens), M/M, Male Crowley (Good Omens), Minor Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Temporary Character Death, Trauma, Triggers, that is a TAG i am SCREAMING
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-03 22:38:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21187142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumiel_lightbringer/pseuds/Janthony
Summary: After Hell discovers how Crowley tricked them, they send Hastur to kill the Lesser demon with holy water - good and proper this time. Except after Crowley melts, they wake up in an oddly familiar place...Or,The one were Fallen angels Rise after death-by-holy-water. Ligur's there, too.





	1. Prologue - Discovery

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Truth Never Lies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19844386) by [izjanee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izjanee/pseuds/izjanee). 

> So... Hi.
> 
> My desktop decided - despite me restarting it, uplugging it, screaming at it, negotiating and signing contracts with it in futile attempts to get it to WORK BETTER with all the imagination in my lil engineering brain - that working is NOT on the gay agenda. I disagree. At least, MY gay agenda has a lot of fanfiction involved but that's just me.  
Anyway.
> 
> I had the chapter 6 draft for Hell's Calling done for over a week now, but Chrome physically REFUSES to run and, even when I tried to desperately to copy down the chapter from WordPad manually onto my half-alive laptop, my desktop decided to take a longass restart-involved hibernation.  
So here I am. With zero patience left.
> 
> Hell's Calling will get an update as soon as my desktop realises that it is NOT the dom in this relationship.
> 
> I apologize sincerely to everyone I had promised an update to, my computer has other plans.
> 
> So here I am, with a new angsty story because that is all I can write because I have clinical depression and can't physically think of anything happy like ever. In the history of Time itself and then some, my mind has only ever shown me sad, gross, traumatizing, and terrifying things. So here I am, spreading that sadness, grossness, trauma, and terror to all you wonderful creatures.
> 
> Enjoy???????????

~

A flash of lightning in the centre of the room awakens Hastur from his eyes-open nap, and Beelzebub puts down the file in zir hand.

A Lesser demon, about 5'6 and rather pale, stands in the centre of the room, ringing her hands. Long, black hair trails down her black, a complete contrast to her stark white irises and red pupils.

"Il'gozzzor," Beelzebub drawls, leaning back in zir throne to eye the younger demon, "You're back early... How wazz Earth?"

"Pleasent, my Lord." She answers sharply.

"How unfortunate."

"Yes." Il'gozor takes a step forward, fiddling with something in her hands as she speaks, "But I bring good news. _Bad_ news? Good? Uhm, good with a lower-case 'g', I think. Good for us, bad for... Crawly? Was it Crawly?"

Beelzebub waves a hand and Il'gozor's jaw tightens, locking in place. "We'll do this the easy way, Human-Soul."

An odd slur, 'Human-Soul' is. Most demons are, in fact, deceased humans. And, after dying and being... converted, they lose their Soul, and it becomes Demonic Essence. But, then again, why would any demon say anything that made sense ever?

"You found something on Earth?"

"Yes." She answers quickly, jaw locking shut after the word leaves her charred lips.

"What is it?" It comes out more as a command, than anything. To be fair, though, anyone that has ever even just _seen_ Beelzebub knows that every question ze says is, truly, a command.

Instead of answering verbally, Il'gozor simply hands the Lord of Flies the item in her hands.

A photo, Beelzebub notices as ze takes it wordlessly from her. Ze looks down and zir eyes widen, but ze quickly hide zir surprise with a stoic expression.

"Good work." Ze waves a hand and Il'gozor is returned to Earth, a first-class, round-trip ticket to the Philippines in her hands.

"Wha' is it?" Hastur asks, leaning over to peer down at the picture.

He looks from the image to Beelzebub, back, and then onto the Prince once more. "Oh, please tell me I ge' to dunk a bastard in holy wa'er."

"Yes." Beelzebub says, a grin playing dangerously on zir lips. "Yes, you do, Duke Hastur. You do."

In Beelzebub hands lies a photo of Crowley, shaking hands with the angel Aziraphale, their forms half-mashed together.

With a satisfied, and rather _excited_ bark of laughter, Hastur disappears.


	2. Chapter 2

~

Chapter 1

Crowley pauses.

Plant mister in hand, he stands leaning over a rather naughty pitcher plant.

He paused not because of the shriveled stocks, or because of the browning tips of the plant he has since labeled Dipshit, but because of the aura in the flat.

It changed...

The temperature dropped several degrees, a faint hum of power singles some sort of supernatural entity. Whether it is an angel or demon, he, somehow, isn't sure - although he does know it isn't Aziraphale [1].

A stench of rotting flesh wafts through the flat, but a burning sting floats in the air.

An angel and a demon, perhaps?

Crowley was too busy in thought to notice the figure in the doorway until they speak.

"Crowley."

The demon spins around, mister held out in a defensive gesture, "Hassstur." He hisses, glaring darts into the Duke's head.

"Fir seve' years, you've tricked Hell and me, Crowley." Hastur mutters, stepping into the room. The double auras follow him, and a dark feeling settles in the Lesser's gut.

"Fir seve' years, you've lived while Ligur hasn't." He continues, anger and malice dripping from his voice.

Crowley backs up, his spine hitting hard against one of the concrete vases. He lets out a grunt, the plant mister dropping to the ground. The water splashes up and hits him.

Hastur doesn't flinch. He continues walking, slowly, into the room, before stopping half a metre from Crowley.

He kneels down, picking up the mister, looking up at Crowley once it's in his hands. "I know wha' you did, Crowley. All'a Hell knows."

The Duke stands up, before pulling out a black tinted bottle. The second aura blows off in waves from it, causing Crowley to moan and Hastur to scrunch his nose.

"Revolting thing, ho'y wate' is." Hastur mutters, spinning the cap off, "Exactly the kinda thing lot like you deserve to die by." He pauses, opening the plant mister, and Crowley understands, "Not the way Ligur shoulda died." The water drips into the mister slowly, Hastur carefully letting it pour in, watching it intently.

Crowley knows he should use this moment to his advantage. But he isn't entirely sure if he'll survive doing so. Well, he thinks bitterly, I'll be dead if I don't so what's there to lose?

So Crowley kicks him. The bottle flies to the wall, the mister tipping over.

Holy water sprays on the two of them, a sizeable amount on Hastur's arms and a hefty helping of the stuff onto Crowley's legs.

Hastur snaps the top onto the plant mister, screwing it on while hissing in pain.

His arms steam and burn, but he doesn't let go of the bottle, now pointing it at Crowley. "Oh, yi're not getting outta this one, boy." He whispers, taking a step closer, pointing the spray-tip at the Lesser's face. "Yir goin' ta die slowly, and painfully."

Dark clumps of Hastur's skin fall off, but it clearly wasn't enough to kill him.

"And just for t'at," He nods to his arms, "The last name you'll be hearing will be Crawly, you disgusting snake!" He screams, and presses down on the release.

A mist of holy water hits Crowley square in the face, and he lets out a pained cry. Panic rises in Crowley's gut, but he can't manage to think of anything to save him. It's too late, he realises.

Another wave hits him, and dots begin to fill Crowley's vision. His skin drips off in droplets, blood rushing down his face. Red tears and bleeding pores fall in unison.

Hastur's cackling and a loud ringing block Crowley's hearing.

He's sobbing, or screaming, he knows. His throat hurts, but he can't hear himself anymore.

Then, Hastur rips the cap off and the rest of the liquid is poured over his head.

"Goodbye, Crawly." Hastur shouts, grinning wickedly, "No one will miss you! Yir angel will be soo glad you're gone, Serpent."

Crowley gasps for air, screaming painfully. His eyes melt into nothing, and the last thing he sees is Hastur's evil smirk; Crowley's skin is gone, bone and muscle barely left; his fingers twitch weakly, in a fruitless attempt to stay alive.

But it's over. It's been over. Since Hastur entered, Crowley knew he was dead.

With one last shaky breath, Crowley whimpers out, "Angel..." in a pitiful attempt at a prayer.

Then, there's nothing.

  
  


* * *

[1] Aziraphale's aura has become such a normality in Crowley's life that his angelic Grace has stopped burning him, unlike that of any other angel.


End file.
